


Lead and Follow

by lanri



Series: Unseen [21]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Blindness, Gen, Pre-Series, Stanford Era, Unseen 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-14
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 14:16:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1782055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanri/pseuds/lanri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's at college. For the first time, he is on his own. <br/>But maybe not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Following

Following Sam to California seemed cruel somehow. A breach of trust.

Then again, Sam had been the one to walk out with hardly any warning.

Dean kept his eyes on the bus, briefly drawing alongside and scanning the faces. Maybe Sam was in the back.

And maybe Dean was an overprotective idiot. He could deal with that.

The bus pulled into a rest stop and Dean followed with a sigh. He could make it to Cali in half the time with the Impala going the speed he wanted, but he needed to keep close. Just in case.

Sam got off the bus and Dean drew in a breath, automatically ducking away as if Sam could see him.

Sam had already made some friends, apparently. Dean quenched the urge to snarl at them to get their hands off of Sam as one overly-friendly man put a paw on Sam’s neck. Sam twitched him off, reaching out to grasp the elbow of the woman who had been leading him. Dean watched on tenterhooks as Sam was led to the restroom.

His phone rang. “Hello?” he muttered tersely. It better not be that chick from a week ago.

“Dean, are you following Sam?” his dad asked without preamble.

“Yup.” Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, staring daggers at the door of the rest stop. What did Sam do, fall in?

The grunted, “he okay?” was as far as John would ever get to letting his son back in again, Dean realized with a strange kind of pang.

“Yeah, far as I can tell.”

“Hurry it up. We’ve got a job in Washington.”

Dean snapped his phone shut without a goodbye, heaving a sigh of relief as Sam came back out, this time on his own, cane tapping the way. Dean had once asked him what it was like, walking through a foreign place without knowing it, and Sam had, in response, blindfolded him and set him loose in the park.

Dean had promptly fallen over and scraped up his knees pretty terribly, prompting a week of remorseful, desperately-helpful Sam.

Wow, Dean was going to miss him. Even as he revved the Impala, resignedly getting into place behind the slow bus, Dean felt it really hit him. A strange kind of clenching in his stomach and an aching loneliness that he could remember from the days after his mom had died.

It was a long drive to California.

* * *

Five months. Five months, and Dean was on tenterhooks. Sam hadn’t called, except for a short voicemail that he arrived safely in California, and that was it.

As soon as they finished up a false trail after a mermaid—really, as if there were mermaids—Dean booked it for California.

Hunting Sam down was a little more difficult that Dean anticipated. He wasn’t at his dorm—Dean had already visited once, putting up a lot of protection with paint that matched the walls and salt under the rugs—nor was he at some of the more populated hang-outs, or even the library.

Dean was almost getting desperate enough to ask around, which he really really didn’t want to, just in case word got back to Sam, when he found him.

Playing his guitar.

For a second, Dean wasn’t sure what he was seeing, and when he did, he felt a little sick.

Sam was on a bench outside of a bar, strumming a set of chords that Dean had always complained was really annoying, even though he secretly enjoyed hearing Sam play anything.

What really made Dean freeze up inside was the case, open on the ground beside Sam, loose change and dollar bills littering the interior.

It looked like begging.

Dean forced himself to breathe and relax. It wasn’t, it wasn’t begging. Just, y’know. Work. Street musician. That was technically an occupation. Some people did it for a living.

One girl stooped, dropping some coins and giving Sam a look so full of pity that Dean growled, drawing a strange look from the two college kids passing him.

Sam didn’t look like a beggar. Not really. But threadbare jeans and an old hoodie . . . Dean wanted to pull Sam away from the people standing around and tell them to stop staring at his brother like some kind of freak show.

But that wasn’t his place, not anymore. Sam had left. Dean rummaged through his wallet, yanking out everything he had. He still kept the bills folded in the old patterns—each one folded differently so Sam could tell them apart.

Dropping them into the case made him seize up with fear. He was right there. He could just reach out, and Sam was right there . . .

Sam was humming under his breath, like he did when he was really into a song. Dean choked back a sob and stood swiftly.

Sam’s head tilted up, a frown marring his brow and Dean knew he was five seconds from being detected.

He left.

It wasn’t that he meant to. He just did it.

* * *

“Hello?”

Sam’s voice in his ear. Dean tilted the bottle back again.

“Is this some kind of prank?” Sam sounded tired, possibly stressed.

“Sammy,” Dean slurred. “You should get some sleep. You sound tired.”

“Dean? Is that you?”

“Forgot my voice already,” Dean said mournfully. Everything was looking a little hazy, and Dean blinked at his bottle. He was probably drunk. Oh well.

“Are you drunk?” Sam’s voice was a strange mix of concern and exasperation.

“Blood alcohol content s’prob’ly high,” Dean murmured.

“Don’t drive, then,” Sam said sharply and Dean giggled.

“I’m at the motel, silly.”

Sam paused. “Dad with you?”

“Nah.” Dean slumped back against his pillows. “Sammy, the room smells funny.”

He got a stilted laugh for his efforts. “Dude, go to sleep. You sound wasted. Hey, drink some water first.”

“Then I’ll have to pee,” Dean complained.

“Tough. Go get some water. Now, Dean.”

Dean set the phone down, fumbling for the edge of the bed and tumbling off very un-gracefully. “Ouch,” he muttered.

It took quite some time to get over to the sink to grab a mouthful of water, and somehow Dean managed to smash his nose against the bathroom door in the process.

Slightly more aware, he returned to the bed and picked up the phone.

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

Dean choked. He hadn’t expected Sam to still be on the line.

“Uh, sorry. I’m gonna just . . . sleep now. Yeah.”

“Okay. Uh, Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“It’d be cool if you wanted to call. Y’know, when you’re not drunk.”

If Dean had been more in control, he might’ve concealed the eagerness with which he responded “yeah?”

“Uh huh. Go to sleep, okay?”

“Kay Sammy. Love you.”

He heard a muttered, “wow, you’re really drunk,” before the phone slipped from his fingers and Dean passed out.

* * *

Dean noticed with a strange kind of detachment that he was trembling.

“I’m here about Sam Winchester?” he said to the desk, not quite able to keep the desperation out of his voice.

“Oh yes. Another college friend?” the woman was amused. “Don’t worry, he’ll be fine. The car just grazed him.”

“What’s the verdict, then?” Dean asked.

“Sprained wrist and some nasty bruises. That’s it though, I promise. I was there overseeing. He’s asleep right now.”

“I won’t wake him up, could I just . . .”

“Sure, honey.” Thank goodness for nurses who were lenient. Dean followed her meekly, and she left him at the door to Sam’s room with a comforting pat on his shoulder.

Sam was far too still on the flimsy bed. Dean strode up close before he knew what he was doing, staring down at Sam’s sleeping form. He couldn’t help himself, reaching out to touch Sam’s hair. Sam could’ve died. Sam could’ve died and Dean wouldn’t’ve known except for one of Sam’s friends had used Sam’s cell to call the first name on Sam’s speed dial. Dean was ridiculously glad it was still him.

Dean swore softly at him and snatched his hand away as Sam stirred. He started to creep away when Sam spoke.

“Dean?” he slurred. “I know it’s you. Where are you?”

Dean was cruel, but he wasn’t that cruel. “Hey Sammy,” he murmured. “Just making sure you were okay.”

Sam reached out for him and Dean couldn’t help himself, stepping close enough that Sam could get an hand around his forearm.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

“Course I am. I’m heading out tonight.”

Sam looked vaguely disappointed. “You, you’re . . . um, you’re good, though, right?” he blurted.

Dean swallowed. “Course, I am, Sammy.” His voice was a little too hoarse, but hopefully Sam wouldn’t notice.

Yeah, sure he wouldn’t.

“You be good, kay Sammy? No more getting hit by cars.” Dean pulled away from Sam’s grasp.

Sam wilted, pressing back into his hospital bed and nodding silently.

Dean made his escape. And hated himself and Sam for the barrier that was between them now.

* * *

He actually had a legitimate excuse. An excuse that consisted of a haunted house near Sam’s college, that Sam had called in to Pastor Jim, who had then passed it on to Dean.

He had made Pastor Jim swear to tell Sam that Jim himself had taken care of it, using the excuse that technically since Jim had given the case to Dean, Jim had taken care of it that way.

It was a stretch, but it wasn’t like Dean could get Jim to flat-out lie.

The salt and burn was easy enough—the stupid college kids would now stop going in and getting hurt by the disgruntled suicide case from fifty years ago—and Dean turned to Sam. He had decided years ago that he had an internal compass that lined up with his little brother. He was very much okay with that.

To his utter astonishment, Sam wasn’t studying or hanging out with his roommate Brady (Dean had done a thorough background check on the guy, seemed okay except for the rich white kid vibe. But whatever).

Sam was on a date.

Dean resisted the urge to wolf-whistle and instead casually checked the girl out. For one, hot. Not that it really mattered to Sam—Sam had been so much the not-so-pretty girl’s dream for senior prom that Dean had been forced to step in and find Sam’s date for him.

Dean casually walked past and heard the two of them talking about some philosophical theory. Figured, Sammy would find a hot geek to date.

“Atta boy,” he muttered under his breath, and turned away.

It was fine. Sam didn’t need him anymore.

What should’ve made Dean happy and proud instead ached a little, deep down.

So Dean made himself drive away.


	2. Leading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Sam, Jess was a dream come true. For Jess, Sam was everything she had ever wanted. It was perfect. Until it wasn’t.

“Hey, Dean. Um, I made it. Registered for classes and everything. I, uh, I hope you'll stay safe. I miss you. Jerk.”

Sam hung up and breathed deeply. He could do this. All he had to do was get to class and he would be fine.

Turned out, getting to class was complicated all by itself.

Sam hated talking to strangers, which was a singular problem for a blind man. Still, there was nothing for it.

“Excuse me?” he asked in the direction of two female voices. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I could use some help.”

“Sure. Whatcha need?”

“I got a little turned around. I’m supposed to be headed to my psych class, but I think when a bike passed me, I got lost.”

“Jess, I have class, you two gonna be alright?”

“Uh huh, see you later.” Sam waited patiently for the two girls to exchange farewells until one turned her full attention on him.

“So, you couldn’t figure out where the biggest building on campus is? You’re so screwed if you’re taking any smaller classes. Well, c’mon, I'll walk you.”

Sam was hovering in a zone where he wasn’t sure if the girl was actually annoyed or teasing. “Yeah, um, would you mind if I held your elbow?”

“Hey, I’m not that easy, buddy.”

Sam drew back hastily until she laughed. “Dude, lighten up. Here, take my arm. Funny, this is the first time I’ve ever escorted a boy. Well, except for my prom date when he got drunk.”

“He got drunk at high school prom?”

“After party. Boy was an idiot, but he had a nice nose, so I put up with him for the night. What’s your name?”

The quick jump in topics left Sam scrambling. “Sam.”

“Well Sam, I’m Jessica. Sometimes my friends call me Jess. Depends on how much they like me, I think.”

“Which one’s better?” Sam queried.

She laughed again, and Sam decided he was officially in love with that sound. Possibly her. “Well, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we? We’re at the building where most of the large classes for freshman are, including your psych class and probably a few others if you’re a freshman like me. Five steps for the front entrance, and if you’re carrying books, there’s a button that opens the door automatically on your right at about waist level.”

“Thanks,” Sam said dazedly.

“So, my you want my number or what?”

Sam tried to make his mouth into something resembling a smile. “Long as you don’t mind putting up with my boring ramblings,” he said.

“Well, if we’re putting conditions on this, then do you mind that I totally look like a ditz?”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean people tend to look at me and write me off as a stupid blonde. You don’t have their advantage, so I wanna make sure you aren’t getting into something you might regret.” Behind the banter, Sam wondered if he could hear some insecurity.

“Well, those people sound like idiots,” he said firmly. “Cuz if we’re gonna be making assumptions, then you’ll have to treat me like a useless piece of baggage.”

Jessica’s laugh was a bit weak. “Wow. We’re really getting you ready for your psychology class, huh? How ‘bout we try for coffee saturday morning and shoot for some lighter topics.”

Sam smiled, relieved. “Yeah, um, you free at eight?”

They exchanged phone numbers, and Sam departed for class feeling better than he had the entire time he’d been at Stanford.

* * *

“Did I hear you right, you’re going on a date with a blind guy? Then why on earth are you putting so much time into getting ready?”

“Shut up,” Jess told off her roommate distractedly. “He’s really cute. I don’t want people walking by and thinking of me as a pity case.”

“I’m pretty sure it’ll be the other way around,” Lucy told her wryly.

“Watch it,” Jess told her off sharply. Lucy had been a high school acquaintance, and Jess had roomed with her, mostly out of fear for being stuck with some psychotic chick, but something had changed once Lucy had hit college.

“Okay, okay. Go have your date.”

The last thing she had wanted was to be late, but she was skidding into the coffee shop nine minutes behind schedule to find Sam seated near the window, drinking coffee.

“Hey, Sam, sorry I’m late,” she gushed, dropping into the chair heavily.

Sam’s smile had a tinge of relief. “Well, hey, better late than never.”

“Yeah, just, well, I don't have a good excuse, really. Oh, I'm going to go grab a coffee, I'll be right back,” Jess gushed.

“Hey, wait, I’ll get it for you. What would you like?”

“Um, just a regular coffee.” Jess blinked in astonishment as he rose to his feet gracefully and made his way slowly over to the counter, paying for her drink and getting it for her.

“Wow, thanks,” she said dumbly as he handed it to her.

The expression on his face was like a smile that was trying to keep the bitterness away. “Well, I can at least try to be a gentleman. You’re just lucky that I didn’t trip over my own feet.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” Jess said airily, though she bookmarked low self-esteem as something to help Sam with in case this was more than a one-time date. “So, Sam, tell me something about yourself.”

Sam looked like he was about to be eaten to death by a rabid dog. “I, uh, I . . .”

“Or not. I could talk, if you're not one for the talking,” Jess said quickly, taking pity on him.

He smiled, this time a real smile with dimples. “Maybe that’d be good.”

* * *

As much as he missed Dean, Sam found himself fitting into college life remarkably well. He had a relatively simple schedule consisting of classes in the morning, followed by a lunch spent working as a street musician outside a popular cafe, and then an afternoon of working out, homework, and hanging out with Jess and other friends he’d made through classes.

Sure, it was impossible to sleep at night without hearing Dean’s light snoring, but that wasn’t really that big of a problem. Really. Not at all.

“Heyo. Spacey boy. You hearing me? What are you going to declare as a major?”

Sam fidgeted. “Um, I dunno. I guess something that I can do.”

Jess sighed. “Hey Mr. Smarty Pants, that encompasses the entire college experience. You can do whatever you want. So, what do you want to do?”

Sam shrugged uncomfortably. “Jess, that’s a bit unrealistic. It's not like I could be a doctor, y’know. No ability to analyze patients.”

She fell silent.

“I’m thinking about pre-law. I've heard of blind lawyers before.”

“If you’re only doing it because other people have done it, then you shouldn’t,” Jess said sharply.

Sam bit his lip. “Jess, why does it matter?”

He felt her slouch next to him. “It doesn’t, forget about it.”

“Hey.” They were supposedly doing work and ‘watching’ TV together, but Sam set aside his homework and reached for her shoulder. “Jess, c’mon.”

“I just don’t want to see you settle,” she said softly.

Sam wished he could see her face. “I'm not settling,” he said. “I mean, it’s not just about doing something that’s easy, law is where I can help people.” ‘And help Dean if he gets in trouble,’ he added to himself.

“I’m sorry Sam, I wasn’t assuming or anything. It’s just . . . I dunno. I can’t imagine how much of a struggle school must be for you, but I’ve been trying my whole life not to settle. I don’t want to be the stupid blonde girl anymore. You know?”

“Well, I’m not blonde myself, so I can’t say that I have personal experience with that,” Sam smiled and correctly judged where her curls were, flipping her hair lightly. “But I know. Fighting expectations is what I’ve done my entire life as well.”

“How so?” Jess asked curiously and Sam cursed silently. He had backed himself in a corner there.

“Well, my dad was always wanting me to be like my brother,” he admitted truthfully. “And that wasn’t who I was.”

“You never talk about your family,” Jess said gently.

Sam nodded and stayed silent, hoping that told her enough.

“Okay, enough with the doom and gloom. Study time.”

Jess flopped back against Sam’s arm and Sam blurted out, “can I see you?” before he knew what he was saying.

“Um, sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but you’re blind,” Jess said slowly, a grin in her voice.

Sam knew he was blushing bright red. “I mean, uh, feel. Your face. With my hand.”

Instead of making fun of him like he thought she would—with all her jokes, Jess resembled Dean sometimes—Jess took one of his hands and placed it on her face. “Go ahead.”

Sam was pretty sure he looked like an idiot as he focused on memorizing her beautiful face with his fingertips. He quickly withdrew his hand.

“Um, you’re very pretty,” he offered, wringing his hands and probably looking like an idiot.

“Thanks.” Her voice sounded fond, and Sam jumped as she pressed her lips against his cheek. “Is this okay?”

“More than okay,” Sam said faintly. “So you’re okay if I’m not . . . I mean, I’ve never really had a girlfriend, and . . .”

“Oh, shut up.” And Jess kissed him.

* * *

Jess made sure her voice was steady. “You've got nothing to worry about, Sam, my family's gonna love you.”

“I can tell when you’re uncertain,” Sam judged astutely. For a blind man, he was awfully perceptive. “And you’re nervous.”

“Every girl’s nervous when she’s bringing home the boy of her dreams to her parents, Sam.” Jess gripped Sam’s hand tightly. “My dad is kinda scary to any boy who has ever taken me out.”

Jess thought she heard Sam mutter “he should meet my dad,” but wasn’t sure.

“Okay.” She released Sam’s hand and knocked on the door.

“Jay!”

Jess heard Sam’s amused quiet echo of her mother’s pet name, but then she was engulfed in a bear hug and couldn’t answer.

“Hi mom,” she choked out into her mother’s shoulder.

“Darling, how is your second year going? Still pre-med?”

“Uh huh.” Jess wanted to scream at the way her family expected her to fail. But that wasn’t what this trip home was about. “This is Sam, my boyfriend.” Jess pried herself out of the octopus arms and dragged Sam forward.

Her mother’s eyes travelled over Sam, taking in his white eyes with raised eyebrows of her own. “Nice to meet you, Sam.”

Her boyfriend stuck out his hand, offering a smile that was practiced and easy, neither of which Jess had seen in her time with Sam. “Hi. I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but I hope you don’t mind me.”

“Of course not,” her mother said smoothly. “Come on in.”

The visit slid by easily enough, aside from her parents acting like idiots whenever they used the word ‘see’ or ‘look.’ The worst point was her father’s dubious look at Sam and a barely whispered, “you sure you want to date this guy?” but her glare had shut him up pretty solidly.

Now, Jess’s job was getting Sam’s perpetually guilty look off of his face.

“That went a lot better than I expected.” She glanced over at Sam, slumped against the passenger door. “Oh, c’mon. You can make fun of me for my family now, are you happy?”

“Your dad was right.”

Jess scowled. “Yeah, well, my dad thinks that pre-med isn’t a good route for women. You gonna back him up on that as well?”

Sam shook his head silently, allowing his bangs to settle in front of his eyes.

“Sam, babe, don’t listen to whatever he said to you. I love you, and isn’t that good enough for you?”

“But I’m not good enough for you.” Sam’s voice was barely audible, but Jess slammed on the brakes and pulled over anyway.

“Sam Winchester. You are the best person I know. I know that you feel you’re useless or whatever, but you’re everything to me. You get that? Cuz you better, or I’m gonna beat you up.”

Jess got the feeling that she had said exactly what she had needed to, because for her efforts, she got a blinding smile and was engulfed in a hug.

“Thanks, Jess.”

“No problem.” Jess smiled into his shoulder, knowing he could feel it. This was who she was supposed to be.

* * *

Sam was pretty good at sensing those he knew well. Some kind of sixth sense to make up for the lost one, he supposed, and from what some professionals had told him, it was pretty common. The few times Dean had stopped by, Sam had been able to tell, even if Dean didn't stick around long enough to even say hello, like after the car accident.

In the hospital, Sam was too weak to hide how hurt he was, though, and Jess came in right after Dean had left.

“Sam? What’s wrong, baby? Do you need more meds?”

Sam’s hand was shaking as he shoved angrily at his tears. Of all the things his eyes could still do, tears were something he didn’t care for.

“It’s nothing, it’s stupid,” he muttered. “I only need some good sleep, that’s all.”

“Sam. You’re the one who took psychology. Talk to me.” Jess settled on the covers next to him, gently touching the brace on his wrist. “Is it about the guy who hit you? I mean, near-death experience . . .”

Sam nearly laughed aloud at the thought of close calls. He had more than his fair share of those. “No, it’s . . . my brother.”

Jess stiffened. She didn’t have the whole picture, and Sam was afraid she thought his whole family was abusive, but he couldn’t really explain everything. “What about him?”

“He visited. He was . . . here. He was actually here.” Sam swallowed a sob that threatened to come out. “Did you call him?”

“Brady was the first one to get to you, I think he must’ve,” Jess told him gently. “Do I need to hunt him down for being a jerk?”

The one word nearly set off Sam’s stupid waterworks again, and he coughed violently to cover the urge. “No, he was checking on me. Making sure I was okay.”

Jess settled down. “Oh. Well, that’s alright then. As long as he knows that I’ll beat him up if he hurts you.”

Sam huffed quietly. “I’m sure the feelings are mutual.”

“Sam, I know things are complicated with your family, but I want you to know I’ll always be here for you.”

Sam smiled despite himself, turning in her direction. “I love you,” he murmured.

He could hear Jess’s smile in her voice. “I love you too.”

* * *

Sam saw Jess burning on the ceiling and he screamed, waking himself and Jess up in one go.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

Sam swallowed the terror, the wrongness of being able to see again after so many years, and took a deep breath. “Nothing’s wrong, go back to sleep.”

Instead of listening to him, Jess rolled over so that Sam could tell she was hovering over him. “Sam, I know you don’t like opening up, but whenever you decide to, I’m here.”

“Jess,” Sam protested weakly. “I—it’s not . . .”

She gently kissed his forehead. “It doesn’t matter, Sam. I know you love me, and I love you . . . the other stuff can come later.” Jess snuggled down next to him.

Secrets upon lies upon secrets. Sam hated it so much, and he deliberately pressed his eyelids closed, so that he could pretend that he hadn’t just had the nightmare he’d had.

He had to keep hunting a secret. That was the only way it worked. Sam could hear Dean’s voice scoffing in his head and ignored it. This was his life. He had the control, and no stupid nightmare would change anything.

Still, Sam didn’t fall asleep for the rest of the night.


End file.
